Sunday, January 20, 2013

For
quite some time I have had two specific concerns on my mind. One of them, in fact, concerns my memory. My memory can be encyclopedic
for names and dates (I know who wrote what book or which director
made what film when) but ask me to describe what my bathroom looks
like or to give details about everyday objects I use and I will draw
a blank (literally, I'd draw a blank page!).

My
second problem is that I feel guilty about not enjoying detailed
descriptions of settings. I have seen other friends and lovers of
fiction rave and drool about how Victor Hugo gives such an incredibly
vivid image of the sewage system spanning five pages or thereabouts.
I am sorry that those descriptions do not stimulate my mind nor fire
any neurons on my part. At best, they make me yawn and that is in no
way meant as a deterrent or criticism of the aforementioned author.

In
fact, that may be the reason why I never attempted to read Les
Misérables and why I
enjoy Dostoevsky, for instance, who tends to be rather low
on physical descriptions (at least if my memory is to be trusted, see
concern one). But again I used to feel guilty because I know I ought
to salivate over the expansive imagery used in novels, sewers or not.
That is until I read Bergen's book.

I
cannot recommend this book any more strongly (in the sense that there
are no words strong enough to express my support, and not in the
sense that there is nothing good to say about it!). Benjamin K.
Bergen's Louder Than
Words: The New Science Of How The Mind Makes Meaning
examines language and meaning-making through what is called embodied
simulation over the often vague and rather ill-defined concept of
Mentalese.

Let
us look at specific examples to illustrate the different approaches
of the two theories. Let us assume you are learning French because
you want to read Hugo's magnificent sewer description in its original
French to be able to savor its full flavor. And you stumble upon a
word that looks like nothing you have ever seen before, French or
otherwise. What do you do?

The
answer is evident: You look up the specific word in a dictionary. So
you will find an English definition that is the equivalent of that
French term. So far so good. But assuming English is your first and
native language, how did you learn your own language in the first
place? Did you look up definitions as well? But that is like not
knowing any French and looking up a French word in a purely French
dictionary. To put it in Bergen's words: What gives?

The
explanation that I had been familiar with from my own share of
university psych classes was the following: There is a thought
language called Mentalese that defines and decodes words and
expressions being used in our first, native language. It is like a
dormant language program embedded in the brain waiting for the
acquisition of language to turn it on. But then what do we use to
decode the Mentalese words with? We use a definition of a definition
of a definition ad infinitum (or rather ad absurdum).

And
hence, embodied simulation steps in to fill in the void. It means we
decode the words we find with the help of images we have in our mind.
So when we read a sentence, we imagine it in our minds in order to
make sense of it. When, for example, “the cat jumps on the table”
we see in our mind's eye the properties of what constitutes a cat (of
course the image is colored and shaped by our own idiosyncratic
tendencies, which are made up of our own previous experiences on the subject).

Then
we imagine the action of jumping (something we are probably familiar
with since childhood) and we see the table (the place where the cat
arrives made of glass, wood or what-have-you). Replace the cat with
jabberwocky (cat = jabberwocky) and you might not get as clear an
image unless you are familiar with the works of Monty Python and/or
Lewis Carroll.

It
is rather amazing how as our brain is in the process of simulating,
the same neurons associated with respective actions become excited
(but do not fire). It is like the state of REM sleep, where we
imagine actions, but our bodies do not act upon them.

It
also explains why athletes who visualize scoring goals or bowling
strikes tend to score more goals and bowl more strikes when in
action! As we are mentally rehearsing, our muscles do the same and we
are ready to turn our mental picture into real action.
(Interestingly, the reverse is true as well: visualizing that you
fail will increase your chances of failure!). So better to visualize
a knock-out performance before your next job interview and romantic
date, and you just might get the job and
the girl!

But
language can be tricky, as Bergen demonstrates as well. Let us look
at the word “clubbing.” Now I tend to think of a pouncing room
with sweaty people dancing their hearts out, but others might be
thinking of getting hit by a club. It turns out that when there is
conflicting information, our brains tend to adjust the information
and the context at hand.

Bergen
looks at a number of metaphors, and he actually uses the idea of
“clubbing the reader over the head.” In this scenario, nobody
gets hurt, physically-speaking at least. So while we first simulate
the unpleasant fact of being hit on the head with a club-like object,
the brain corrects the statement and understands that this is not
meant to be taken literally. That is also why idiomatic expressions,
such as clubbing someone
over the head can bring
about veritable headaches for those who are learning English as a
second or foreign language.

Louder
than Words is filled with a number of scientific studies testing
this embodied simulation hypothesis. We also learn about cultural
differences since the relationship between words and actions can
become a completely different experience across cultures. For
example, while Westerners would wait (and simulate the act of
waiting) in a sitting position, the Chinese prefer to squat instead.
So the simple and commonplace act of waiting depends on cultural
contexts and takes on different proportions or stances in one's mind's
eye.

Language
is a very personal experience and not an objective means of
communication. Our previous experiences, both personal and cultural,
strongly influence how we make meaning of words and expressions. And
this explains why reading (simulating all those words into actions in
one's mind) sometimes tires me, why having dreams about work exhaust
me and why I should log them as extra hours or overtime.

For
all the so-called multi-taskers out there, the brain cannot do two
things at once, the same way, as Bergen puts it, the mouth cannot
chew and whistle at the same time! Since the mere thought - and by
extension simulation - of something puts your neurons on alert, ready
to fire at any moment, it also makes talking on cellphones
(hands-free or not) or even simply worrying about an issue a
hazardous undertaking while driving.

This
also gives us useful knowledge about language learning and teaching,
for example, why foreign students may have difficulty understanding
certain concepts even after looking them up in their own language. I
strongly recommend this book for language teachers and educators out
there. It also gave me an interesting glimpse of the scientific
process and rigors, even though my bruised head smarted afterwards,
metaphorically speaking.

All
in all, this book is definitely worth its salt (and I haven't even
touched upon its wit, humor and its recurring analogy of
"flying pigs" -- for a glimpse see the book cover above). If you want stimulating and intelligent reading, go no
further. You will find out if you are a visualizer or a verbalizer (I
am a verbalizer and I assume “great brains simulate alike”) and
it might just help you to avoid pitfalls and manipulation of language
so that we can make sure that we are communicating more effectively
in our daily lives.

Because,
in fact, we are what we speak and words can have tremendous impact on
our lives. They are not only used for the purposes of this post, but
they also help us to make heads and tails of the world. Words can
start and end wars and crusades, relationships and marriages, and may
lead to success and failure in our professional world. In other
words, let us not underestimate the power and influence of words nor
take their meaning-making lightly.

Science generally is not my cup of tea; but I'm interested in the life-stories of Newton, Feynman and those who contributed to chaos theory. This may be due to the excellent writing of James Gleick who has written about them all. And I also like to learn about the achievements of the great Victorian engineers.

I have two fascinating books by the neuropsychologist Antonio Damasio. But science itself is outside my sphere of interest. That's all.

And I well understand the pull of your erstwhile reasons for the anathema.